I ask the question, “Do you wanna hear something funnie?’ at least twice a day, but usuallie far more frequentlie. Frequentlie enough, in fact, that it may become irritating. And funnie never means the same thing. I might actuallie mean something that would make you laugh, but often I mean something else. I mean odd, or terrible, or interesting. I might mean anything but the word funnie covers any possible type of storie.
So, do you wanna hear a funnie storie?
Imagine for a moment a girl who loves her things. Who adores the place she lives with a love verging on heretical. Imagine a girl who names her car and talks to it and loves it with the ferocitie and blindness that that implies. Now imagine a weekend so perfect…
In one weekend she takes possession of a beautiful apartment and arranges her things just like she loves them in it and in that same weekend she gets her car back after it has been in the shop for a full month. To top it off she drives down to Lancaster to visit her boyfriend and it’s a wonderful weekend.
Now imagine that she’s cruising up the turnpike. Windows down on what it apparentlie a beautiful fall day with a mix cd cranked on the stereo. She down shifts as she passes the EZ Pass and then she shifts again taking Dasie back up to speed…
But nothing happens. She tries again. Nothing. Her car has stalled. She guides it to the side of the road and she doesn’t cry. She turns the key and listens as the engine turns over, and over and over but never catches. She doesn’t freak out. She calmly calls The Ladie and informs her that her car is dead at the King of Prussia toll plaza. And after she hangs up she tries again to start it.
It starts and she turns it around and drives it straight to the shop. She meets The Ladie there and The Ladie drives her to her new digs in Phillie. It is only after they pull up outside that she remembers that she forgot her keys in her purse and that her purse is in her car and her car is in Gilbertsville.
It is onlie at about this point that she even considers crying, but she doesn’t. Instead she makes a series of phone calls that will result in the entry to her apartment.
Well, it’s true. every word. And now here she… I… sit in my new apartment typing on Freddie, looking out at the lights of my city with a glass of wine in my hand and Alton on the tv explaining how to properlie brine a pork shoulder. My candles are lit (and it smells fantastic in here) and with the exception of my wall hangings this room is spotless.
Tomoro I’ll finish the laundry room and the wierd closet. I’ll hang my pictures and I’ll studie for my final. It’ll be a good day, but now…